Built Piece By Piece

an excerpt

Chapter
One

As the black Town
Car wove through the crazy New York streets to the Warehouse
District, top fashion stylist, Montgomery Peyton Ravenscroft, looked
out the window. He rested his elbow on the armrest and tapped his
fingernails against the glass. The sky was gray and rain dropped on
and off throughout the day. It was similar to his mood.

Monty loved
everything about the fashion world and helping his exclusive clients
dress in the finest clothes possible. He was honest to a fault,
sometimes too honest, but it worked. He never wanted his client to
end up on the 'Worst Dressed' list. That was the bane of every
stylist. He dressed everyone from Hollywood and Broadway stars,
politicians and European elite.

Still, for some
reason, the drive to find the perfect look no longer seemed to thrill
him. He didn't have the heart for the hunt, to sit through multiple
shows of the different Fashion Weeks where he saw everything from
haute couture, to modern, to ready-to-wear and menswear. He even went
to the lingerie and swimsuit shows. After the shows, he spoke and
flirted amongst the crowds during the parties to keep up appearances
and contacts. There were even clients that he traveled with to attend
special appointments with one designer or another.

His bank account
was well padded. His investments were safe from any market craziness.
He enjoyed a penthouse a few avenues from Central Park. Other than
the exquisite designer created rooms of furniture and art, his home
was empty. His life was empty except for friends and clients.
His family was long gone. The last man he'd been with left him for
someone younger and hot he met in a club.

Monty found
himself almost forty with only a successful business and empty home
to fill his life. It wasn't working.

"Have you
made a decision on what you're going to do?" his best friend,
Andres Morefield, asked from his spot on the other side of the car.
He sipped from a glass of sparkling water and tapped his wedding ring
against the side.

The sound was
starting to annoy Monty.

"No, I would
never abandon Ravens' Style or my clients. I need something else
because I feel like I'm floundering," Monty said, but didn't
glance at his friend. "Where are you taking me?"

"To see
someone I think you would want to help or become an investment
partner," Andres said. "He's quite an interesting young
man. Brilliant designer."

"Do I know
him?"

"No and
that's the unfortunate problem he's having, which is typical for most
young designers. It's difficult and fierce competition."

"What is the
problem?"

"He's prone
to high anxiety attacks and has trouble mingling and being in large
crowds. Sometimes it'll affect his speech by causing a slight stutter
or missed words. He has a tendency to squirrel away somewhere. Poor
boy is so lost in the creativity within his mind that he has almost
no social skills."

"How is he
able to work and sell his designs if he can't step out and promote
himself? That's the majority of the business, get out and show off
your work. No matter how good his designs may be, if no one sees them
then there's no point."

"He hired an
assistant, a stylist of some sort, to handle potential buyers,
clients and companies. A pair of part-time tailors assists him with
the odd job or two, but he's not busy. Last I heard the tailors took
on full-time positions elsewhere." Andres shook his head. "For
reasons you pointed out, I don't know how much longer he can
survive."

"Why isn't
the assistant doing his job and bringing clients to him?"

"I'm not sure
what that fella is doing, but his way isn't working. I'm hoping your
way will do the trick. I hate to see this kid disappear."

Intrigued by all
this flattery from someone who's been in the fashion world for so
long, Monty turned his head to study his friend. "What's his
name? The designer."

"Dillen
Ashbridge. He's barely twenty-eight, but graduated from Parsons at
the top of his class and interned with Dior and a New York house--
Michael Kors, I think. His background started with high school
theatre costumes and prom dresses. His grandmother taught him
everything from pattern making to beading and knitting. He can make
anything except accessories, but he can design those pieces."
Andres finished the water and set the glass in its spot. "I've
seen Dillen create everything from the most exquisite haute couture
gown to a sleek men's suit even you would want to wear everywhere."

"Yet with all
this promise and talent, he's gone nowhere."

"Exactly."

"When did he
start his brand?"

"Two years
ago. When I asked him to qualify for a place in Fashion Week, even
one of the minor shows, he almost fainted in front of me."

"Seems to me
he needs a psychiatrist, not another stylist," Monty said.

"He has one,
Monty, but he needs more." Andres shook his head with a sigh.
"I'm not sure what he needs. Dillen is alone in the world. His
grandmother raised him, but I believe she passed away. I'm not sure
of the details. It was around the time he graduated from Parsons."

"What did he
call his business?"

"DA Designs."

"Short and to
the point, but I'm not sure it's strong enough to capture attention.
If he doesn't have a show, then it wouldn't matter what he calls his
business. If no one knows about him or his place, then there's no
point to advertise his business. If he doesn't do these bare basics
and put his name out there like all the other young designers, what
good would it be for us to support him? I'm sorry, Andres, but not
even I can help him," Monty said.

"Before you
make a final decision, please meet with him first and see his
portfolio and work."

"It's why I'm
sitting here. Does he know we're coming?"

"Umm. No. He
would panic."

"Wouldn't our
sudden appearance make this reaction worse?"

"Possibly,
but I heard him mention your name several times. He admires your
style and skill," Andres said. "Win him over with your
charm."

"Charm?"
Monty raised an eyebrow. "I've been called brash, harsh and
brutal with my clients. I don't think it's ever been called 'charm.'"

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